It's About Power
by poi922
Summary: He understands what constitutes success in his world. It's not about right, not about wrong…it's about power. NOTE: Mark Snow, so…deliciously malevolent…and everyone hates him! He tends to be a bit one-dimensional so I've created bits and pieces of a past for him. Pretty much Canon; POV Snow; Character study. Based on "Blue Code" flashback scenes.


**NOTE**: Mark Snow's speech pattern is rather complex. He tends to speak in fragmented sentences, often just single words…but then breaks that pattern with very calm, monotone explanations. It's hard to capture that cadence and still make a story flow, so where he is actually talking, even to himself, I've tried to use his more abrupt style; where the story explains something, I reverted to a more common sentence structure. (Still didn't turn out quite like I wanted…but oh, well.)

**PS**: Those of a certain age group will recognize the last sentence in this story. ^_^

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of these characters. Such a pity.

* * *

Snow watches his agent lower the gun and waits until he hears the safety click before stepping inside the shabby space. The door sticks and then doesn't close properly, requiring that extra shove to make the lock engage.

And that's the Company for you. Spend millions on snitches and bribes and crooked politicians. Won't spring for decent hotel room. SOP.

Per usual, the current assignment is politically sensitive; a low profile is imperative. And per usual, it's the standard rational given for the crummy accommodations. But damn…a room with a liquor bar would have been nice. And it's been a while since he's had the luxury of sleeping on a decent bed. One without a plywood mattress.

"_Best I can do…cheap Polish vodka."_

As it is, they'll have to make do with what he was able to purchase at a local liquor store. Run by some idiot clerk who, from the stink emanating from somewhere in his beard, was busily drinking up the profits. And sampling the pickled eggs.

He should have just walked out of there with the bottle. That dimwit wouldn't have even noticed. But it's too risky. Damn cameras are everywhere these days. Getting caught on tape is especially not worth this foul stuff; they're going to be lucky if it doesn't blind them all.

"_We're missing a glass..."_

Stanton opens the bathroom door revealing their "package" in the tub. He nods his approval of her choice of storage; there are too few chairs in the room as is. Besides, tubs are easier to clean than carpets as he knows from experience, having seen plenty of bodies in tubs.

And the very first time it really was a body. As in 'dead'. One of his mothers many 'boyfriends'…the first one he helped expedite to a meeting with his Maker. His first execution.

_"He's government. Tried to sell something of ours to the Chinese. Software. Something…"_

Reese interrupts his reverie, curious about their package. He can't give the agent much information and even if he knew, he doesn't tell his people more than they need to get the job done. That would be pure stupidity. And while he may be a lot of things, stupid he's not.

Stanton hands him the bottle now, memories flowing like the volatile liquid he pours as alcohol fumes rise from the filmy glass and trigger scenes from his past...

...

_Boyfriend, like most of them, is a slobbering drunk. Though this one thinks to try his luck with the kid, since the Mom has passed out on the couch. The loser doesn't even notice the fourteen year old is taller and twenty pounds heavier._

_And deadly with a knife. Boyfriend tries to grab a personal body part…and it's all over in a matter of seconds._

_He drags the leaking body into the bathroom to keep from painting the apartment blood red. So much easier to clean tile and tub than the cardboard grade carpet in that dump._

_Of course his Mom the Bitch decides just at that moment to pull out of her alcoholic haze and screams obscenities at him. She stumbles around the room, yelling the whole time as he considers the best way to dispose of a body._

_Interestingly, it wasn't all that difficult... _

...

_"Call's not coming in tonight. Get yourself some R&R."_

Encouraging Reese to get a change of scenery is a quick and expedient means to get some privacy so he can have a private convo with Stanton. But, is this a mistake? Reese is tight lipped but his ass hasn't been in country for a couple of years now. And Stanton mentioned a suspicion he's still hung up on some girl back home...

Probably would be better to have someone there to keep eyes on the agent. Make sure their boy doesn't do something…imprudent. The locals get prickly about the Company on their home turf.

_"Don't forget you're behind enemy lines…"_

As the agent goes out the door he forces himself to relax. He and Stanton have been CONUS before without any issues, so there is no reason this time will be any different. The three of them are local just long enough to make transport arrangements and then they…and their package…are out of here.

So, he'll make this quick with Stanton and then send her back out after Reese…insurance that their boy stays out of the way of the natives.

The first swallow of the cheap vodka hits the back of his throat like a slug of acid. He watches as Stanton calmly pours more of the colorless liquid into her plastic water glass then taking a quick gulp, draining almost half the glass in the process. He's no slouch when it comes to drinking, but damn…the woman can put it away.

A tough cookie, that Stanton. He's known her since the Marines. Worked with, and supervised her for several years now. There isn't much she won't do. Always follows orders…doesn't ask questions. The perfect Company agent.

Like himself he muses, taking another deep swallow. This one goes down easier... his throat is probably now anesthetized. And the fumes invading his sinus cavities work more effectively than any nose spray. Memories float on the alcoholic high...

...

_He didn't come by the job easy. Used his back-alley contacts to forge papers, lied about his age, and played nice to get into the Marines. Kept his nose clean while getting himself an education. It wasn't really his plan to stay after that first tour, but when offered a Secret Service assignment it sounded…interesting. He could do that for a while._

_The 'a while' lasted longer than expected and then morphed into employment with the CIA, where in time he grew to appreciate that not only did he have a natural flair for wet work, he actually enjoyed it. That sense of being on his own, in control...being able to maneuver others to a desired end? It's a heady feeling, addictive._

_It's power he's intent on amassing…even if it means sucking up to the bureaucrats occasionally while he's stockpiling points. The paper shufflers seem to value his ability to remain detached, making him the perfect tool for scrub jobs no one else wants._

_Not all that difficult for him. Sappy feelings are for amateurs. Just too messy…and damn inconvenient. _

_..._

_"You've been reassigned. You head out tonight. China."_

So this time the bureaucrats have decided to step in and do a little micro managing? Just great. As if it isn't hard enough to ferret out the bad guys without Uncle Sam's pen pushers looking over your shoulder. This Corwin chick isn't even CIA; she has some kind of upper level position in the NSA.

And interesting that Corwin wants _these_ two agents. Really? Because there is no one else available? Morocco is not exactly next door to China; it's hard to believe there's no one closer to assign to this job. He's not particularly happy about pulling the two agents off their current assignment; Stanton is close to getting some sensitive info out of their mark. But whatever.

His is not to reason why…blah, blah. Corwin has an inside track in DC. Someone or something made her choose these two. He needs to find out who. And why. Information is power…

_"We've lost control of a certain item."_

A laptop with some code. Huh. Could be possible of course. But taking a wild guess, there's a much bigger, more complicated issue involved. Still, not his concern right now.

Snow remains silent as the NSA rep gives the agents a briefing knowing that letting her run the show right now is not only politically correct, but allows him to analyze his agents responses. Both seem to be up on the current events surrounding the virtual technology. Not surprisingly. He chose them in the first place for their sharp wits and ability to be quick studies.

He waits patiently for Corwin to leave and hangs behind while Stanton moves out. He needs to give Reese his final orders.

_"You're to retire Agent Stanton…"_

The ex-Delta has always been a bit too quiet for his comfort, like the guy is just going through the motions. Like an automaton. But from experience, Snow knows that aim Reese like a gun, pull the trigger, and…problem solved. This is an agent that gets the job done; it's what makes him a valued asset.

And if the guy sometimes looks like he'd rather be anywhere else? Reese does what he is told. No questions asked, and that's all that counts. Trained agents are valuable, but there are always more in the pipeline. They're all expendable. When the shoe no longer fits, you don't try to fix it, you throw it out…

_"We clean up our own mess, Reese. You know that."_

Their boy seems to have taken it OK. Acceptably stoic after being told to off his partner. But that earlier request, needing to take leave? That's worrisome. Their boy's not supposed to have any family…or at least none he should acknowledge. May need to look into that further.

But for the moment, "don't leave any loose threads" is the order from DC. This Ordos mission will take care of that and rather than invite a confrontation, a promise to give the agent time off in return for best efforts will work. Expediency counts here.

But he is going to miss those two. Capable assets, and now he's going to have to start with new ones. Again. He takes another drink, draining the cheap hotel glass. Too bad, but he'll make do. He always has.

He knows what constitutes success in his world. It's not about right, not about wrong…it's about power.


End file.
